


Sting

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Prompt:I wish you would write a fic where Scully hits MulderA/N I couldn’t imagine many scenarios where this would happen, but then this popped into my head.This is a missing scene from FTF, inspired by a rewatch. Mulder and Scully have flown to Dallas and back, chased tanker trucks, run through cornfields, been hunted by choppers and bees, and she’s due at the OPR. They haven’t slept for days.





	Sting

The OPR hearing is less than an hour from now and Mulder’s banging on her door again. He’s managed a shower and a change of clothes but she’s been too busy compiling notes to save his ass, once more. She’s trying to sip her coffee, get some life flowing back through her veins and he’s standing there in that fucking heather-grey tee-shirt and jacket looking like the lead singer of boy-band who’s just signed a multi-million dollar solo deal. Coffee spills over her mug when she slams it down on the bench. Fuck you, Mulder. Go solo. I’m done chasing tanker-trucks in the dark. I can’t do this anymore. When does it ever end?

“Scully?” he asks in that voice that’s even more gravelled now that he’s been on the go for days. He’s standing right behind her, fucking breathing down her neck like she’s his girl and they’re going to make out in the kitchen. A hand on her lower back and bam! she’s seething. 

“Get out, Mulder.”

“But the hearing. I just want to know what you’re going to say.”

The coffee trails over the counter, dirty brown liquid pooling at her fingertips. Tensions slices between her shoulders. She’s that close to tears that she has to press her eyes with her fingers, pinching the bridge of her nose like she used to when the headaches blinded her at the peak of her cancer fight.

“Scully…”

She swings around, bumping him out the way. “I asked you to leave.” The door handle is cold in her grasp. He’s looming over her, wearing that arrogant grin that tells her he’s not going any time soon. “Mulder, get out of the way.”

When he looks over her shoulder, back into the warmth of her home, hers, she feels the burn in her veins spill out. She slams both hands into his chest and he moves back, more out of surprise than by her force. “I said leave.”

“No, Scully,” he says and his voice is caught in his throat, pitched higher. “What’s going on?”

There’s no time to think, to breathe, to take stock. She’s propelled by all the events that have led to this moment and she’s rubbing her palm before she registers the slap. His face is turned away, jaw set. The way he rubs at the skin is slow, meant to prove a point. He doesn’t face her straightaway, just lets his fingers linger on the red patch blooming on his cheek. Pointing it out. Her loss of control, hers.

The hallway air is cool in comparison to the heat from inside her apartment. He pushes past her, deliberately knocking her shoulder.

“I didn’t ask for any of this, Mulder.” It’s not an apology. She will not say sorry.

“You’re going to be late for the OPR,” he says, and he’s already walking away.

 

It’s not until she’s outside the building that she calls him. He lets her speak, lets her fall silent before he responds. And when he does, she feels her resolve falling away.

“I’m going to see Kurzweil. We’ll talk more later.”


End file.
